


What a Feeling, What a Night

by severalkittens



Series: A Song That I Heard [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, is this porn without plot?, there's certainly not much plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 15:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18593767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severalkittens/pseuds/severalkittens
Summary: Spurs progressed to the semi-finals of the champions league, Paulo Gazzaniga pulled Jan Vertonghen's hair, and I wrote this fic.





	What a Feeling, What a Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dierdele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dierdele/gifts).



> Based on this gifset: https://dierdele.tumblr.com/post/184298001959.

Jan almost never has company over. His house isn’t that big, for one. And he likes to keep things clean, tidy, in control. But now he’s got Spurs entire first team crammed into the garden level. Most of them are in his game room, or outside lounging on his patio. He thinks there might be one or two in the kitchen. He _hopes_ nobody is upstairs. Still, he’s not really bothered, because they’re through- for the first time in history, they’ve reached the semifinals of the Champions League. Andif Spurs can get past City, Jan can get past having people in his home. 

Nobody had planned for a party. It’s not that they didn’t think they could do it, it’s just that all the planning had lead up to one moment- the starting whistle of their second-leg tie in Manchester. Anything after that had seemed like tomorrow’s problem. So when they touched down in Manchester, fresh off the win and teeming with energy, they’d improvised. Jan had volunteered his house, some of the Argentinian guys had rounded up a truly staggering amount of alcohol, and Dele actually bankrolled a table of food from some restaurant Jan’s never heard of. It feels like a real party.

He’s relaxed, shockingly. He’s on his second beer (or is it his third?), the food is unbelievable, and everyone seems like they’re having a good time. There’s just one problem, one train of thought Jan can’t derail. That problem is tall, with thick, black hair and turquoise eyes, and currently holding court over Jan’s pool tables like he owns them. 

He hasn’t always been fascinated with Paulo Gazzaniga, but he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about it. Everyone knows Paulo is a fucking knockout, it’s almost a running joke. He’d gotten used to defending Paulo’s goal in practice, and in the odd league cup game. He’d gotten used to watching the well-muscled, beautiful man shouting hoarse instructions at him, bossing Jan around the pitch, flying through the air, stopping shot after shot.

But he can pinpoint the exact moment Paulo became A Problem- it was today, after the final whistle, on the field. Jan’s face had been buried his face in Trippier’s neck, raw emotion spilling out of him in the form of hoarse praise. He’d loved Kieran Trippier in that moment. Just like he’d loved Pochettino, Dele, Toby, and fuck, all his teammates. 

But suddenly there a steady hand had snaked behind his neck. Thick fingers had clutched at his hair, tugging at his sensitive scalp, dragged his face out of Trippier’s shoulder. He’d almost moaned out loud, keyed up enough from the win that everything felt electric and intoxicating. And then Paulo had folded Jan into his chest like he was a child, hand gentle on Jan’s spine, words like honey in his ear. He’d been instantly hard in his match shorts, unsure of whether it was the victory, or the feel of Paulo’s hands on his body. Jan’s tried, but it’s hours later and he still can’t shake the memory of Paulo’s fingers snug in his hair. With a touch like that, he’s pretty sure he’d let his handsome goalkeeper do anything to him. 

Right now, for instance, he’s handling the pool stick so deftly that Jan’s starting to feel a little hot under the collar. Dele, Son, Walker-Peters and Serge Aurier are all watching him raptly as he destroys Erik Lamela in a best two out of three. Dele’s leading the heckling, the rest all chiming in as needed. Jan smiles to himself when Lamela misses and Dele jeers.

Jan watches from across the room. He’s completely tuned out Dier, who is waxing philosophical about beauty and the meaning of love. Jan’s not stupid- Dier’s talking out of his ass, and his eyes are fixed on Dele. He snorts to himself.

“Play me in pool,” says Dier, suddenly.

“Sure,” says Jan, chuckling as Eric turns away. Dier’s fixation might be obvious, but Jan’s not going to pass up an opportunity to get closer to Paulo. He’s been dying to talk to the big Argentinian all evening.

They head over to the open table, right next to the one where Gazzaniga and Lamela are fighting to the death. Several years ago, Toby had admonished him for buying more than one pool table. At the time, he didn’t really have a good reason. There was a deal, and he thought maybe he’d have guests over. He hadn’t, of course, not until now. _Told you so,_ he thinks, smirking to himself. 

“I’m not very good,” says Eric, rubbing the chalk on the felt tip of his stick.

Jan just shrugs at him. Jan is very good at pool. He’ll never admit it, but he practices alone in his basement a couple times a week. He’s going to absolutely wipe the floor with Eric Dier.

He lets Eric break the rack- a nice thing to do given Eric’s fate. He sinks one, stripes, but misses his next shot. 

“Your turn, buddy,” says Eric. Jan licks his lips in anticipation. He lines up his first shot, sinks the solid red three deep in the corner pocket. His next shot sees off the four and the five. He sinks one more ball, the royal blue two, before his options run out and the six bounces next to the middle pocket he was aiming for and rolls harmlessly into the middle of the table. 

Eric raises his beer at him before he puts it down. He fixes his concentration on the table, planning out his next move. _Poor guy_ , thinks Jan.

“I play winner,” calls a deep, confident voice. It’s Paulo, sidling up next to him, holding out the neck of his beer for Jan to clink. His cheeks are a little bit flushed. Jan can’t say whether it’s from beer or victory.

“You think you can take me, eh?” says Jan, turning to face Paulo full on. He’s finished his second beer, and he feels a bit bolder.

“Ah, I know I can take you,” says Gazzaniga. “If you win.” And he _winks._

Jan’s stomach does a little flip-flop, and the back of his head prickles where Paulo’s fingers nested earlier. There’s the click of pool balls, followed by hoots from all the boys who have turned their attention to Jan’s game. Eric’s sunk two of the striped balls, and he’s lining up an easy shot for a third.

“Mate, you’re about to get hustled by Dier,” crows Dele. Jan rolls his eyes petulantly. Dier’s a beast at fancy games, like chess, and croquet. He should have known better than to assume he was bad at pool.

“Tough luck, Jan,” says Paulo, clapping Jan on the shoulder. Jan feels it all the way down to his toes. Eric sinks another ball with a snazzy behind the back shot. 

“Ohhh, Dier, that was straight sex!” yells Dele, shaking his hand so his fingers smack together. And thank god for that, because Eric misses the one after that- maybe something to do with the faint blush in his cheeks.

Jan stalks up to the pool table, eyes narrow, game face on. Someone’s put another beer in his hand, but he’s not going to crack it until he annihilates Eric Dier. He’s behind by one, and he really, really doesn’t want to lose. 

“Go get ‘em, cowboy,” yells Son, from somewhere behind Jan.

Jan performs well under pressure. After years of central defending, he knows this is a strength of his. So he tunes out the whistles and jeers, and lines up his shot. He chips the six into the far pocket, and smiles to himself, not even sparing a glance at the boys behind him. The cue ball has rolled to a stop perfectly in line with the seven and his near-side pocket. He sinks that easily too. He just has one more ball, and then the eight ball. 

Eric’s looking a bit nervous now that he’s shown his hand. Jan takes a minute to survey his audience- Dele and Aurier obliterated, playing some game that involves flicking a bottle cap. Son, sipping on the glass of water he likes to have between vodka sodas. He pretends his gaze doesn’t linger on Paulo’s shiny hair, or on his eyes that look like they might be hiding a secret.

“You’re going to make me play Dier, huh?” says Paulo, raising one perfect eyebrow at Jan. Jan snorts and shakes his head. 

He turns back to the table, and lines up his shot. He hits it crisply, on target, but the ball strikes the corner of the pocket instead of sinking straight in. Jan hears yelling, feels someone ruffling his hair. The hand isn’t big enough to be Paulo, he thinks. He steps away from the pool table, head hanging in disappointment. 

With a clear table, Eric sinks the remaining balls quickly. And then Dele’s clapping him on the back, and practically screaming in his face, yelling “Dier, you’re a God! You have to teach me how to play!”

Dier doesn’t seem to mind, nodding and grinning in a manner that’s somehow confident and self-deprecating at the same time. Dele grabs a stick from the rack and turns. The back swipes over a mess of bottles on the table, and sends them flying to the floor.

“Oops,” Dele says, sheepishly. Eric’s there with a strong arm around Dele’s waist, guiding him past Jan.

“I think it’s time for Dele to go,” he says. Jan notices how his cheeks are slightly flushed and he’s got a little smile on his face.

“Paulo, mate, I owe you a game, ok?” Eric calls over his shoulder, as Dele lets Eric guide him out of Jan’s basement. _Lucky bastard_.

The night winds down after that. Jan loses sight of Paulo in the shuffle. So he heads upstairs to bid his guests goodbye, and try to stop anyone who thinks they’re crashing on Jan’s couch or in his spare bedroom. He watches the rest of the boys filter out to grab their coats, realizing with a little thrill that Paulo isn’t among them. When he heads back downstairs, he finds the keeper circling the pool table, occasionally stopping to knock a ball into a pocket with ease. Jan stands on the bottom step, just watching. He takes a few big gulps of beer, hoping for some courage. 

“I still think I could take you,” says Jan, finally.

“Oh?” Paulo says. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” he says. Jan’s on his way to drunk now, and brimming with confidence. But a little voice in the back of his head wonders whether he really can beat Argentinian stunner Paulo Gazzaniga at pool. Maybe if Paulo stays totally out of his line of vision.

Paulo surveys the table for a minute. “Hmmm,” his hum is deep and rumbly. Jan feels it in his chest. 

“This shot, right here,” Paulo gestures to a striped three, and the corner pocket. It’s almost exactly the same shot Jan missed earlier. “ _Take it.”_

And Jan really can’t say no to that voice. He steps up to the table, swiping some chalk across the tip. He lines up the shot, trying to be more careful this time. It’s tricky. He doesn’t know whether he should perch on the side of the table and lean across, or whether he should bend all the way over and extend his arms.

He decides to perch. He tells himself it’s because he missed the shot the other way before, and not because he wants Paulo to have a view while he’s taking the shot. He makes a mental note to practice this next week.

Jan’s about to strike the ball when he feels a hand on his hip. His quad tenses, almost involuntarily.

“No, no, don’t do that,” comes Paulo’s voice, warm in his ear. Big hands pull at Jan’s hips and he slides off the table. 

Paulo’s left hand creeps over Jan’s, plucking his wrist up and pressing it to the table. He brings his right hand to rest just underneath Jan’s on the pool stick, and rests his chin on Jan’s shoulder. His broad chest is pressed tight to Jan’s back, and his hips are lined up with Jan’s. He’s half-hard in his jeans already, wondering how he’s supposed to concentrate on a game of pool under circumstances like this.

“You just have to line it up well, that way you hit the sweet spot when you shoot,” Paulo says into Jan’s ear, and Jan almost whimpers. Paulo lifts the pool stick. The tip slides between Paulo and Jan’s fingers laced on the table. Jan’s fingers twitch a little, and he swallows.

“Bend,” says Paulo, commandingly. And wow, did that go straight to his dick. Jan bends. He can’t help it.

“Hmmm, careful now. It is a tricky one. You need to be gentle, just clip the outside of the eight.” Jan is surprised at how low and velvety Paulo’s voice is, how it curls inside him. He’s rock hard now, and straining against his jeans. He couldn’t care less about the shot.

Paulo guides the stick between their fingers once, twice, three times, and then clips the cue ball sharply. It spins into the striped ball, sending it flying into the far corner pocket. 

He lets himself relax into Paulo a little bit. He shivers when Paulo drags the pads of his fingers up Jan’s arm

“There,” Paulo says, finally. “You did it.”

Jan knows as soon as he turns around, Paulo will be able to see exactly how turned on he is. A man other than Jan might be embarrassed, but Paulo’s fingers are still tracing lines up and down Jan’s forearm, and Jan is brave. So he takes a deep breath and turns, leaning back on the pool table. He’s trapped between Paulo’s legs, Paulo towering over him. He feels his cheeks flush.

Paulo cocks his head and hums, a mischievous smile on his face. He slides his fingers up Jan’s arm, across his shoulder, into the back of Jan’s hair. Just like earlier, he winds his fingers tight, and _pulls_. Jan lets his head fall back, and a little whine escape from his lips.

“Ooh,” Paulo raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t know Jan Vertonghen made noises like that.” Neither did Jan. He feels Paulo’s hand twisting in the back of his hair harder, and bites his lip. Paulo’s eyes flick downward, lingering on Jan’s erection. He thinks he sees a moment of satisfaction cross the goalkeeper’s face.

Jan’s going to die if Paulo doesn’t kiss him right now. He tilts his head hopefully, straining against Paulo’s grip in his hair. Paulo brings Jan’s head within reach, and then leans that last few inches forward. His lips find Jan’s jawline, the side of his cheek, just next to his mouth. He pauses, and Jan’s heavy breaths fill the air. 

Jan closes that last centimeter between them and touches his mouth to Paulo’s. Paulo’s lips are so soft, and Jan feels like he’s burning from the inside out. His hand curls around the back of Paulo’s neck, dragging him closer. Before he’d thought he’d die if Paulo didn’t kiss him. Now he’s actually pretty sure he’s going to die if Paulo ever stops.

Paulo unwinds his hand from Jan’s hair to undo the top few buttons of Jan’s shirt. He slides the fabric over his shoulder, brings his mouth to bite at the soft flesh there. Jan’s fingers scrabble at the back of Paulo’s neck, finding nothing to hold. He digs in his fingernails and Paulo groans.

Paulo’s got half of Jan’s torso uncovered now and he moves his lips to find Jan’s nipple. Jan yelps when he drags his sharp teeth across it, moans when he covers it with his gentle tongue. 

Jan breaths Paulo’s name into his ear like it’s a prayer, “Paulo, Paulo, tell me what you want.” 

“Shhhh,” whispers Paulo, kissing back up the side of Jan’s neck. “Let me take care of you tonight.” 

“Ok,” gasps Jan.

Paulo unbuttons the rest of Jan’s shirt and slides it off. There are angry red patches across Jan’s chest and shoulders where Paulo’s teeth have been. He’s is achingly hard, dying to get out of his jeans. He bites his lip when he feels Paulo’s fingers on the buttons.

He undoes the first one, fumbles on the second. “Fuck, Jan, you just had to wear buttoned jeans tonight, didn’t you? Don’t you own any trousers with zippers?”

Jan laughs breathlessly, knocks Paulo’s hand to the side so he can get the last two buttons. Paulo quickly slides the pants down his hips. He wraps his hand around Jan’s cock and _holy shit._ His hand is so big, and so warm. Jan’s whole body tenses when Paulo drags his thumb over the slit, swiping precum over his tip.

“Turn,” Paulo says, fingers scrabbling at Jan’s hips. Jan’s breath quickens. Surely Paulo’s not going to-

“Bend,” says Paulo, before Jan has time to question what he will or won’t do. Jan bends over the pool table, forearms propping up his torso, ass and thighs completely exposed to Paulo. His dick is throbbing against the felt rim of the table, and he grinds in, desperate to find a little friction.

“Stop, wait,” commands Paulo, stilling Jan’s hips with steady hands. He drags one finger across Jan’s ass, then brings his hand down with a sharp slap. Jan whines into his own shoulder, harder than ever. 

Paulo leans over, presses himself up against Jan. He cradles the back of Jan’s neck with one hand, brings the fingers of the other to Jan’s face.

“Suck,” he says. Jan takes the fingers into his mouth, rolls his tongue around them, licks the pads of Paulo’s fingers. Even through the fabric of Paulo’s jeans, he can feel Paulo swell against him. 

Paulo withdraws his fingers, straightens up, and lines them up against the pucker of Jan’s hole. He rubs gently, teasing his entrance, hand steady on Jan’s hip. Jan cries out when Paulo presses into him. It’s been a long time since anyone touched Jan there, and he’s _so_ sensitive. Paulo takes so much care working his finger deeper and deeper that Jan wants to cry. It’s so good, better than he ever imagined. Jan drops his cheek to the table, pushing his hips back for more as Paulo carefully feeds him a second finger.

Paulo’s fingers feel so big inside him, so strong. He’s crooking them, pressing into that sweet spot again and again, making Jan cry out. His other hand is firm on Jan’s hip, coaxing him to move in small circles. Jan whimpers as his dick rubs into the table, friction building heat in his belly.

“Paulo, Paulo, I’m so close, I’m going to-“ 

“Shhhh,” he feels Paulo’s fingernails dig into his ass, holding him down. “Come for me,” he says quietly. And Jan does. The heat explodes deep in his stomach, and he moans breathlessly. He feels himself clench hard around Paulo’s fingers, and he comes in quick spurts all over the pool table. He lies there for a minute, breathing hard, body pliant under Paulo’s hands.

_Ah, my pool table,_ thinks Jan absently. He winces as Paulo draws his fingers out of Jan’s oversensitized hole. His face flushes in embarrassment, but Paulo’s sliding his hands across Jan’s stomach, pulling him into his chest. 

“Fuck, Paulo, that was-“ 

Paulo's fingers are back in Jan’s hair, scrubbing at his scalp gently, grounding him. Jan stays there for a few minutes, boneless in Paulo’s arms, coming back down to earth.

“What am I going to do about the table?” Jan moans eventually.

“Shhhhh,” whispers Paulo, finding his lips again. “What do you need two of them for anyway?”

Jan kisses back slowly, suddenly so, so sleepy.He just wants to curl up against Paulo’s chest and stay there, but,“Paulo, can I- is there anything you-“ 

It’s a half question, his eyes fluttering shut in between breaths. Paulo puts a finger to Jan’s lips and shushes him, gently. “Not tonight. You have City again on Saturday. You need to get your rest.”

“But-“

“Next time,” he says, stroking the hairs back from Jan’s sweaty forehead. Jan feels a little thrill at those words, at Paulo’s twinkling eyes. 

Paulo stoops to pick up Jan’s phone from where it’s lying on the floor, expelled from the pocket of his jeans in their hurry. “You have my number, yeah?” he says.

Jan nods sleepily against Paulo’s shoulder.

“Next time you need anything, _anything,”_ Paulo’s voice is dripping with insinuation. “You come to me.” 

 


End file.
